It is the still dark of “pre-dawn.” I sit here tapping keys on my keyboard near a dim-lit floor lamp during a thunderstorm that has just begun. Lightning flashes through wooden blinds surrounding my work desk tucking me inside the cocoon of my office turret. Rumbling sounds of thunder are all around, outside the windows of my home. Yet, I feel safe here.
Twenty-eight years ago on a wintry blizzard night, I gave birth to my first-born son in an operating room near the rippling grey shores of a cold and icy east bay in Michigan. With my husband by my side, the miracle we had hoped and dreamed about finally wailed into the night.
I still remember the nurse bringing our child to my husband who stood near the head of me. All other sounds ceased while she held the swaddled bundle for me to catch my first glimpse of him. My eyes locked into the slate blue slits of my infant child who stared straight through me. He seemed calm, even mesmerized. In that single moment, a wash of “mother’s love” enveloped me. It was an emotion I’d never known before. My husband wiped salty tears from my face with a wrinkled, white tissue stuffed in the same jeans he wore from twenty-four hours before. The nurse broke our silence then. “He’s yours. You can touch him, you know.”
I could touch him…I could touch him! In some unspoken world deep inside of me, I felt I had known this child before. Perhaps, forever. Gently, I reached out to stroke the newness of his plump, rosy cheek. We held an unbreakable bond from that moment on. Mother and child.
Ironic is God’s plan for all of us here on earth. Because of a chronic condition I was infertile. Still, He chose to give me the most precious gift of all. A few years later, my son developed a chronic condition, too. If it were not for the life of my little boy, I would never have become a writer. When he was very young we helped to educate families through books, while giving children who lived like him a “voice” in school. Before, they had none. I do not take the credit. My son was the little hero. God worked first through him and then through me. If my child could have grown-up simply catching frogs while I drove car-pool, we would have both been happy and healthy. God had other plans for us.
My son has grown into a great man who has always made me so very proud. He has found his true soul mate in life. A beautiful girl inside and out. Together, they delight in the life of their adorable, precocious daughter while waiting for their own baby boy to arrive. My first-born son loves his blessed life. Supremely happy in spite of his adversity, he is one of the best young men, I’ve ever known. I share him with the world, you know. Ask anyone. You’ll find this to be true.
Happy Birthday My Son, With Great Love to You.